Behind Bars

Chaplains face complex issues in ministry to the imprisoned

By BRIAN CAULFIELD

Douglas Johnson is an altar server who enjoys working with the Church and being a part of a faith community.

Eric Claudio helps set up for Mass and keeps the vestments and vessels in order.

Both men are serving 25 years to life in a maximum security prison in Ulster County. They speak of God as a close friend who has changed their lives and of their prison chaplain as one who has led them to God and a better understanding of themselves.

"Deacon Doherty is not just my spiritual leader, he is a father figure," said Claudio, 24. "I could be in a lot of trouble in here if not for the deacon."

"Something would be missing without looking forward to going to church every week," said Johnson, 37. "That wasn't the way I was years ago. I couldn't look at church at the beginning of my time here."

Deacon Joseph Doherty is the Catholic chaplain at Shawangunk Correctional Facility in Wallkill, a secluded "maxi-max" complex where serious offenders are sent for long stretches of their lives. Some die there. Some, with more time to think than anyone would ask for, find new life. Even Doherty, a permanent deacon, has gained a fresh perspective on his work.

Prison ministry was the last thing Deacon Doherty wanted to do after his brother was murdered almost 20 years ago by two teenagers in Boston. He was angry at the youths and the criminal justice system and felt everyone was considered in the case except the memory of his brother and his family.

"I literally hated the people in the system," he told CNY. "I thought they deserved to be in prison. 'Lock them up and throw away the key,' that's what I thought."

Now he ministers to murderers and others convicted of violent crimes. He tells them how he received the grace to forgive his brother's killers and suggests to the inmates that they, too, are worthy of forgiveness. Although the majority of people on the outside would like to throw away the key on them, they are still God's children, the deacon tells them.

Sister Marion Defeis, C.S.J., works in a different setting. The women she sees on Rikers Island are locked up for only weeks while they await trial, appeals or sentencing to an upstate prison. Content to deal with problems of the moment, Sister Marion keeps a supply of Miraculous Medals to give to the female inmates as she walks the halls and carries a bottle of holy water for blessing them. Women seek out the haven of her small office for a patient ear, experienced advice or a referral to a lawyer or social worker.

"Hi, Sister Marion, how are you today?" a young inmate says as she stands at the office door.

Another woman stops to ask, "Sister Marion, can I have one of your little blue necklaces?"

The nun hands plastic rosary beads to the inmate, who drapes it about her neck like fine pearls.

"Thank you, Sister," she says.

A third woman shows off pictures of her 5-year-old son.

"I go to Family Court on the 27th," she explains. "I need someone to talk to about my case."

Sister Marion gives her a name.

Veronica, 20, told CNY that Sister Marion is preparing her for a "clean life" when she is released in August.

"She is the only light we have in this darkness," Veronica said. "I have my whole life ahead of me. She's made me see my whole life can be better."

Having viewed things from the inside over many years, Sister Marion is a vocal critic of the criminal justice system. It operates on a predominantly punitive basis, with little concern for education, reform or rehabilitation of inmates, she says. Too many male and female offenders get caught in a cycle of crime through addictions to drugs and alcohol which are not well addressed by the system, she claims.

Top on her list of causes is the reform of the state's Rockefeller drug laws, which impose long mandatory sentences for relatively minor offenses. Cardinal O'Connor and the bishops of New York state backed her up last year with a statement calling for a revision of the laws and more drug treatment programs.

"The wealthy person addicted to drugs can get into a treatment program. The poor man or woman on the streets goes to jail," Sister Marion said. "We are trying to solve all our social problems by putting people in jail."

A positive step was taken last week, she said, when New York became the first state to require that most nonviolent, drug-addicted criminals be offered treatment rather than jail time. Chief Judge Judith S. Kaye, who made the order, said that the alternative sentencing program will keep some 10,000 drug-related criminals out of jail and place them in treatment programs that have been shown significantly to reduce recidivism. The initiative will not affect arrests under the Rockefeller laws, however.

"They are really skittish about touching those," said Sister Marion.

Prison chaplaincy is a hidden ministry that attracts the interest of few Catholics. It is done behind bars, under high security and the seal of secrecy, within restrictive prison conditions. Chaplains walk a line between serving inmates and working with the prison administration, being an advocate for the one and an employee of the other. They labor under the added burden of knowing that many Catholics see them as "bleeding hearts" who give aid and comfort to the criminals who stalk their streets and threaten their security.

Yet, as chaplains point out, visiting those in prison is among the works of mercy Jesus commanded, along with feeding the hungry, welcoming the stranger, clothing the naked and caring for the sick. "For whatever you did for one of these least ones, you did it for me" (Mt. 25:40).

"It's one of the most forgotten ministries in the Catholic Church," said Father Michael O'Hara, O.M.I., chaplain at Metropolitan Correctional Center, a federal facility located by the courts in lower Manhattan. "Check any parish and see what sort of ministries they have and you'll find some very wonderful works, like visiting nursing homes and hospitals, staffing soup kitchens and homeless shelters. But how many will have people visiting the prisons? How many will even think it's possible, though there's a prison nearby?"

Ministry to inmates will be in the spotlight in July as the Church observes the Jubilee for Prisoners, one of the many celebrations of Church works and personnel set by Pope John Paul II in the Holy Year 2000. The pope will visit Regina Coeli prison in Rome on Sunday, July 9, the jubilee day, and bishops throughout the world are encouraged to visit inmates in their area and celebrate Mass. A document addressing crowded conditions in prisons, the need for educational and vocational training and the possibility of clemency will be released by the Holy Father early in July.

Jubilee observances will take place in the New York Archdiocese over the course of a week, beginning Saturday, July 8. Auxiliary Bishop James F. McCarthy, vicar of Northern Westchester and Putnam and chairman of the New York State Catholic Chaplains Apostolate Committee, will visit five prisons in the upper counties during the week. He will administer confirmation to inmates at the Sullivan Correctional Facility in Fallsburg and go to Sing Sing prison in Ossining, two prisons in Bedford Hills and Fishkill prison in Beacon. He also will be the celebrant of a televised Sunday Mass July 9.

Auxiliary Bishop Patrick J. Sheridan, vicar general, will visit the hospital and the adolescent and women's facilities on Rikers Island July 9. The day before, Auxiliary Bishop William J. McCormack, national director of the Society for the Propagation of the Faith, will visit the men's jail on Rikers Island and a South Bronx jail for men on a large boat docked in the Hunts Point section. Regional vicars will go to prisons in their areas.

Within the archdiocese, 53 chaplains work in 48 correctional facilities on the federal, state, county and city levels.

"The real effort that the chaplain expends largely goes unnoticed," Bishop McCarthy said. "He has a very delicate role--part social worker, part parent, part family member and part of the prison administration."

Chaplains also minister to prison guards and other employees who experience professional or personal problems, Deacon Doherty said.

"This is your parish," he said, as he sat in the prison's high-security, multiuse room which serves as a chapel for all religious groups. "You are responsible for all the people who come to you."

At orientation sessions, he tells new inmates, "I'm here for you. I'm not here for me."

"I encourage them to come to Mass and other services, at least for the sense of community and belonging," he explained. "I want them to find peace within. Peace inside the walls."

In Shawangunk, Mass is celebrated and confessions are heard by a visiting priest once a month. Deacon Doherty holds weekly Communion services with the Blessed Sacrament he keeps reserved in his office and conducts Bible study on Wednesday evenings.

At age 60, with grown children and a business career behind him, he is not naive about the men he deals with. He knows they may be killers, liars and cheats who fake religious conversion to get some favors from him. But he also knows that behind the criminal behavior is a frightened man with no one but the deacon to listen. He has learned that no one is beyond God's mercy or the transforming touch of his love.

"Every day I pray, 'Holy Spirit, lead me in the way you want me to go,' " he said.

"It seems like everybody finds God when they come to prison, myself included," said John Gialanella, another inmate who helps Deacon Doherty. "Sometimes it will take a catastrophe to make us stop and think...There are a lot of so-called 'tough guys' in prison. But when the chips are down and they think life is really bad and they feel they are all alone, they get down on their knees and pray to the Lord for help."

As a Department of Correction employee, a chaplain may earn far more than in other ministries--$28,000 to $40,000 in New York City, $42,000 to $55,000 on the state level. But few chaplains remain on the job just for the money, said Kenneth Hoffarth. As director of the Office of Criminal Justice for Catholic Charities, Hoffarth is responsible for recruiting, training and checking up on Catholic chaplains. He works with Msgr. Leslie J. Ivers, director of the Archdiocesan Prison Apostolate and pastor of St. Frances de Chantal parish in the Bronx.

"They're paid as any other professional in the system and are seen to be as important as social workers or program directors," Hoffarth said. "The money would not drive anyone to the work. It's hard, demanding. You must be suited for it. We don't have a great number of parish priests lining up for these jobs."

Chaplains themselves are on "probation" for about six months to see if they can do the job before getting final approval. Hoffarth said that in the past, prison chaplaincies sometimes were used as a "dumping ground" for priests who didn't fit in elsewhere. The demands of the job require high-caliber candidates, however.

"People in prison have their own problems," Hoffarth explained. "They don't need someone coming in causing more."

The archdiocese began filling chaplain spots with religious sisters more than 20 years ago. With the slowdown in priestly vocations, permanent deacons have been appointed to a number of positions in recent years.

In addition to arranging ongoing training, an education day and a fall retreat for chaplains, Hoffarth's office serves as liaison with prison officials when church and state conflict.

Problems may arise with the role of the chaplain inside or outside the prison, Hoffarth explained. Department of Correction regulations stipulate that employees must not correspond with the family of inmates or with the inmate himself after he's released. But chaplains often are contacted by former inmates and their families for counseling, referrals to parishes or preparation for sacraments, Hoffarth said.

"The DOC has a hard time fathoming that there's another role the chaplain has," he explained.

Conflicts come over Catholic inmates having nonmeat meals on days of abstinence and release time for holy days of obligation and Good Friday. There have been occasions when a prison decided that wine could not be brought in for Mass.

"They say, you'll have to use grape juice," Hoffarth said. "We have to explain why as Catholics we can't do that...The warden and the superintendent may not understand Church law."

Deacon Kenneth Radcliffe has a unique ministry, at the Vernon C. Baines Correctional Facility on a boat off the Bronx. In the short time he gets to see inmates before they move on, he gives them a strong dose of the Gospel.

"I say to them, 'You know what you did wrong. Now you've got to get right. Now let's see who's been baptized, who needs the sacraments.' "

Evangelization and rehabilitation cannot be done, though, unless the inmates seek treatment for their addictions, he added.

"Of those I deal with, 80 to 90 percent are in because of drug and alcohol abuse, especially the blacks and Latinos," said Deacon Radcliffe, who is black and serves at Resurrection parish in Harlem. "I try to get them to come to grips with the things that got them into jail: the drugs, the alcohol, the violence."

"I've seen minor miracles," he said. "I can walk down the street and a guy will say, 'Hey, chaplain, remember me? I was in the Bronx house and you prayed with me.' I'll say, 'Are you taking care of business?' He'll say he's working for the post office, or somewhere else."

Taking a breath of satisfaction, he said, "I could do this work for the rest of my life."